Between you and me, I’m seriously regretting certain of my actions right now.

An old friend got in touch with me completely out of the blue and I was so impressed by her energy and attitude to life that, before I knew what was happening, I’d signed up to join her on a personal development program.

And we’re not talking about an evening’s seminar or even a weekend workshop, here, mind. Oh no, none of that namby-pamby, get-it-over-and-done-with, quick-fix for these girls.

We’re signed up for a seven-month program.

A seven-month program that teaches you how to be an “adult” and deal with life from a perspective that’s not all the things you said to yourself as a little kid, things like “I’m not good enough” or “I’m all alone” or “Everyone abandons me”, stuff like that.

Learning to play

It’s about learning how to enjoy life as an adult, while remembering how to play and have fun.

Isn’t that a weird thought? That you can be an adult and not be all responsible and serious and sombre?

If I picture a playful adult, I’ll think of someone who’s not being responsible, someone that I can’t rely on, someone who’s a bit, well, childish, and here I am, enrolled to do a program to learn how to have fun and play while being an adult.

To be honest, I still can’t get my head around the whole thing. Yes, I love to have fun and play and generally enjoy life, I do that regularly. Then I come back to my “real” life, with all the obligations and responsibilities, duties and concerns.

How do I do it?

How do I keep all my obligations and still have fun?

I’m sure I’ll find out soon. But in the meantime, having enrolled in the course and looking forward to playing and enjoying life, what’s actually happening is…

Everything that’s not fun is not just rearing its ugly head and making itself known,

It’s also smacking me in the face, wrestling me to the ground and jumping up and down on me.

I’ve found myself totally paralysed by all the stuff I say to myself when I get upset

And I’m getting upset all the time.

Stuff like “I’m not good enough” is running through my head making as much noise as a herd of Wildebeest stampeding across the plains.

“What’s the point?” is grabbing me so tightly by the throat that I can hardly breathe.

“I can’t do anything right” is turning me into a TV-watching, procrastinating, teen-like couch potato who slams doors at every opportunity and spends their time slouched in an artfully depressed-like pose across the furniture.

In those dreadful moments when all three of them hit me at once, I turn into a foul-mouthed, obstinate, bad-tempered Spawn of Satan for about two minutes before collapsing into a distraught, sobbing, sorry mess on the floor.

This all, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with hormones, either.


Actually, if I’m perfectly honest, it might, but it’s not just hormonal. It’s worse than that.

Way worse.

Think of the worst mood swing you’ve ever had (and trust me, ladies, if you haven’t yet reached peri-menopause, you have no idea just how bad a mood swing can get. Hold on to your britches, because you’re in for a ride).

Think of the mood swings where your loved ones run for the hills in fear of their lives, when all they've done is commit what would normally be a ‘minor' infarction.

The mood swings where you daren’t pick up a knife because the temptation to do something that you’ll almost certainly regret (and is definitely illegal) might be too great.

The mood swings where watching Bambi leaves you so heartbroken that you can’t get out of bed for several days.

Mood swings that leave you fighting back the tears and struggling to hold it together because your favourite Indian restaurant has served you a curry that isn’t as hot as you expected.

Then you sit there praying that no one will ask you how your meal was because if they do, on top of everything else, you’re going to have to lie.

And then you’ll hate yourself even more.

Think of all those… and multiply it by about 10.

Right now, I am highly emotional and not necessarily taking actions that make sense under any kind of objective scrutiny.

To say the least.

I also think my husband deserves the Nobel Peace Prize.

Or maybe a sainthood.

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